


Second Verse, Same As The First

by stratumgermanitivum



Series: Brat [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM themes, D/s undertones, Domestic Discipline, M/M, Spanking, Very slight feminization, of the 'blink and you'll miss it' sort, slight consent issues that resolve, slowly becoming just 'tones', so much spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17277293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: The second time it happened, Will thought he was ready for it. He wasn’t, of course, but that was because Hannibal had a way of clawing under his skin.He knew that Hannibal would want to do it again. He’d implied as much after the first time. But Will had sort of thought he would wait, that Will would have to provoke him.Not that Will wanted it, or anything. Not that Will had spent the drive into Baltimore wondering exactly what it would take for Hannibal to lose his temper.





	Second Verse, Same As The First

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Title: A Little Bit Louder, And A Little Bit Worse

The second time _it_ happened, Will thought he was ready for it. He wasn’t, of course, but that was because Hannibal had a way of clawing under his skin.

He knew that Hannibal would want to do _it_ again. He’d implied as much after the first time. But Will had sort of thought he would wait, that Will would have to provoke him.

Not that Will _wanted_ it, or anything. Not that Will had spent the drive into Baltimore wondering exactly what it would take for Hannibal to lose his temper.

In the end, though, none of those fantasies that Will definitely didn’t have turned out to be necessary. When Hannibal let Will into the room, Will went towards his usual chair. _Hannibal_ went to the chaise. Will stared at him for a long moment as Hannibal removed his coat, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. It was like his brain was refusing to process it, like he thought that as long as he didn’t think about it, it wasn’t going to happen.

It was going to happen. Will knew, even before Hannibal smiled softly and patted his thigh. Will swallowed heavily.

“But I… I didn’t do anything.”

Hannibal hummed his agreement. “Nothing that I’ve _seen_ ,” He corrected, as if he could guess at Will’s behavior when he wasn’t around. He probably could, and the thought made Will flush. “But we don’t want a repeat of last time, do we?”

Will swallowed again. His mouth was dry, and his heart beat a jackhammer rhythm in his chest. “No,” He whispered.

Hannibal patted his thigh again. “Then let’s get this over with so that you can talk to me like a good boy.”

The noise Will made was closer to a squeak than anything else. Praise while sobbing in Hannibal’s lap was one thing. To be referred to as a ‘good boy’ while Hannibal looked him in the eye was an entirely different feeling. Will crossed the room as quickly as he could, less eager for the pain than he was to hide his face in the carpet.

He was, if he was honest with himself, a little bit eager for the pain as well. But that was a thought he was refusing to linger over.

“No.” Hannibal stopped him with a touch to his hip, his large hands wrapped around the jut of the bone. Will tried not to shiver under that touch.

“What?”

Hannibal gave him a pointed stare. “We should do this correctly this time, don’t you think?”

The truth of what Hannibal was asking of him came on all at once. Will wanted to panic, to turn tail and run out the door, or at the very least to ask Hannibal what the hell he was getting out of all this.

He didn’t do any of those things, although he couldn’t look at Hannibal anymore, either. He stared at the pattern of the rug, a pattern he was becoming very familiar with, as he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down his thighs.

“Underwear too, sweet boy.”

Will sank his teeth into his lower lip and shoved his briefs down. Warm hands settled over his thighs, and Will closed his eyes, pushed to his limits already by such a simple touch.

Hannibal didn’t linger. His hands worked Will’s clothes down to midcalf and left them there, trapping his legs together, binding him with his own clothing. Hannibal took Will’s hands in his and guided him over his lap.

There had been no arousal the last time Hannibal did this, and there wasn’t any this time. Will could, and frequently had, gotten off with a bit of pain, but he knew instinctively that these spankings were not about sex. Not for him, and not for Hannibal. They were intimate, yes, almost unbearably so, but not sexual.

Still, there was an extra level of terror that came from having his bare cock pressed up against Hannibal’s firm thighs. Will felt exposed, seen. Hannibal’s eyes lingered over his skin in a caress.

And then his hand came down.

It was worse, this time, much worse. Hannibal’s hand was a sharp shock to his bare skin. Will squirmed over Hannibal’s lap, biting his lip to hold back the whimpers. Carefully, one palm braced on the ground, he used the other hand to work the collar of his under shirt between his teeth. He bit down hard, muffling his cries in the fabric. Hannibal’s hand paused against his backside, rubbing gently over the curve. Will could feel the callouses on his fingertips against his bare skin, and it was somehow so much more than the spanking. Will shifted uncomfortably under the touch, ducking his head to hide his blushing face. Then, two fingers forced their way into his mouth, not hard, not enough to hurt, but firm and unyielding.

“No, sweet boy,” Hannibal whispered, tugging the spit-slick cloth from between Will’s teeth. His fingers lingered for a moment, hooking in Will’s jaw and tugging his mouth open wide. “It’s alright. I want to hear you. How will I know I’m doing it right, if I can’t?”

His hand came down again, harsh after the reprieve, and Will cried out. Mouth forced open wide, the sound was loud and desperate in the room. Will couldn’t keep back a helpless, embarrassed little whine.

“Very good,” Hannibal praised, and oh, Will didn’t know it was possible for words to be such a relief and such a humiliation at the same time. “Just like that.”

Hannibal’s fingers retreated, but Will didn’t dare shut his mouth again. Hannibal braced his damp hand on the small of Will’s back, holding him still as he began again, in earnest.

The room was filled with Will’s desperate gasps, too loud in the huge space. Will wrapped his fingers tight in Hannibal’s pants, clutching for balance as he sobbed and yelped his way through every swat.

He thought, for a moment, that there would be no end to it. That he would be stuck here over Hannibal’s lap for eternity, that there would be nothing more than the sharp, stinging smacks, and the lingering afterburn.

Will thought, for a single, aching second, that it would not be the worst way to go.

Hannibal’s hand slowed. He delivered the final swat to the reddened tops of Will’s thighs, rubbing his fingers gently over the marks he’d left. “There we go,” He whispered, “You’re ready to be a sweet boy for me now, aren’t you?”

Will nodded before he could fully process the words, before he could think long enough to be embarrassed. His face was soaked with tears, and each breath came shaky and clogged. Hannibal pulled him back into a seated position, wiping gently at Will’s face with a handkerchief. It was unbearably, unreasonably intimate.

“Now,” Hannibal said, when the worst of the mess had been patted dry, “Tell me about your case.”

Will was still braced in his lap, still with his pants around his ankles, his soft cock displayed between his thighs. When he reached for his jeans, Hannibal stilled him with a firm grip on his wrist.

“No,” He whispered, “Just like this, I think.”

Will swallowed, thick and uneasy and _eager_.

\-----

The sting lingered across his backside, longer than it had through thick jeans. Will slept on his stomach and tried to avoid uncomfortable FBI seating. He made the mistake only once. Midway through a lecture, he’d leaned back against his desk, as was his habit. The sharp corner pressed into a bright bruise. Will bit back a yelp and jerked to a standing position, avoiding sharp-eyed, curious gazes.

He was still stinging the next time he came to Hannibal’s office, though the worst of the color had faded, and he was not at all surprised when Hannibal led him to the chaise, this time with a grip on his hand, as if Will might get lost on the way. Will hesitated with his hands on his zipper.

“Yes, Will?” Hannibal leaned back in his seat, eying Will with an enviably calm grace.

“I just… It’s just…” Will glanced away, and found his chin caught, head tilted back to Hannibal. He swallowed a needy, aching sound.

“I can’t read your mind, Will. I cannot know what is bothering you if you won’t tell me.”

“I’m still sore… from last time,” Will admitted, blushing. Hannibal smiled softly and undid Will’s jeans for him.

“Good. Then we know the lesson will stick.”

And, well, Will didn’t have an argument for that. He let Hannibal pull his pants down, and then, when Hannibal paused, Will moved.

This was different than before. This was not Hannibal, startling the hell out of him with a tight grip and iron hands. Will could not pretend to be anything but a willing party, as he lowered himself, bare-assed, over Hannibal’s lap. He stared at the ground as Hannibal pushed his shirt up to pet at his back, and wondered what had become of him.

\-----

It happened a fourth time, and then a fifth. A weekly occurrence, something Will perversely began to look forward to. It was cathartic, in a way, wiping the slate clean of all the week’s stress. He could start over, afterwards, start fresh with no one else in his head but himself.

Two months into the game, Hannibal changed the rules.

“Come in,” Hannibal called through the door. He didn’t open it for Will this time. He was already seated in one of the empty chairs, the space he’d claimed for himself before this all started. Will hesitated, caught between the open chair and the chaise.

Hannibal gestured to the chair. “Come, Will. Make yourself comfortable.”

Will sat in the chair, gingerly, testing out the lingering heat. He healed almost entirely between sessions, but there was always a lasting sensitivity.

“Tell me, how have you been getting along with your colleagues at the BAU?”

Will startled, staring at Hannibal with wide eyes. His mind was spinning, racing to pick up the thread. For a moment, a sheer terror overwhelmed him. He felt as if he’d imagined it, as if every moment before this one had been just a perverse sexual fantasy, a wet dream he was mistaking for reality.

But no. He’d had the bruises to prove it. Will’s pulse pounded as he tried to center himself, tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

And he must have gone wrong, if it was no longer worth it for Hannibal to take him over his knee. Hannibal had spanked him every week for the past two months. Maybe he thought Will wasn’t getting any better, although he hadn’t quite given Will any constructive criticism to improve on. Maybe he expected Will to already know what kind of behavior Hannibal would like. Maybe it had been a test, and Will had failed.

Throughout this mental hurricane, Will did not manage to say a single word. Hannibal kept staring at him, gaze cool and steady.

“You seem uneasy, Will. May I ask what’s bothering you?”

The first thing Will thought of was a lie. The second thing, too. But they were beyond that, weren’t they? They were… Well, Will presumed they were friends. There was too much intimacy in the way Hannibal held him for them to have kept things strictly professional.

“Aren’t you going to… to…” Will’s face was flushed a heated red. Hannibal cocked his head to the side.

“To what, Will?”

Will’s voice dropped to a shattered whisper. He had not yet been forced to talk about it, and the words nearly refused to come. “To _spank_ me.”

Hannibal offered him a small smile, the slightest quirk of his lips. “Is that what you would like, Will?”

No. Yes. Both. Will met Hannibal’s eyes, then jerked away. He was a conflicting haze of emotions. He didn’t want to crave it, but he couldn’t stand to be without it. He-

“It isn’t about what I would like,” Will realized.

“No,” Hannibal agreed, “It isn’t. What _is_ it about, Will?”

“It’s about… It’s about what I _need_?” Despite his best efforts, Will trailed off into a question. Hannibal smiled wider, showing sharp teeth.

“Good boy.” Hannibal stood from the chair in one fluid motion. Will’s ascension was far sloppier; he practically tripped over himself in his haste to be out of the chair. If Hannibal found his antics amusing, he hid it well.

Will’s motions were almost eager, as he shoved his pants down and let himself be guided into place. But even then, Hannibal did not start immediately. He waited, rubbing gentle circles over the crease where Will’s ass met his thighs. He waited until Will started to squirm, uncomfortable and wary.

“You’ve benefited from these weekly sessions, haven’t you, Will?”

For the second time that day, Will weighed the benefits of a lie, and found them lacking. “Y-yes,” he mumbled to the carpet.

“I thought so.” Hannibal’s other hand found Will’s curls, picking apart the knots with gentle fingers nudging at his scalp. Despite his defensive instincts, Will relaxed into the touch. “Yet, they do take up quite a bit of the therapeutic hour.”

Will flinched. He opened his mouth to protest, anything to keep Hannibal from pulling away, and found his mouth filled with two long fingers, pressed firmly against his tongue.

His cock twitched against Hannibal’s thighs, and Will prayed Hannibal couldn’t feel it.

“Hush, Will. I’ll make sure you get what you need. I was only suggesting that it may be time we got you on a set schedule.”

Will’s immediate instinct was to respond, but with the fingers lodged firmly in his mouth, it came out as a curious, muffled little moan. Will’s face went bright red and he ducked his face as far as the fingers would allow. Hannibal hummed his agreement and patted Will’s upturned ass softly.

“Yes. Something concrete that we would both be aware of. Perhaps Friday evenings, after dinner? A nice opportunity to wipe away the week’s problems.”

It took Will a long moment to realize what Hannibal was offering. Not a cancelation, not even a change. An _addition_ , more time on top of the hours they already spent together. Will wrapped his hand around Hannibal’s ankle and squeezed once.

“Good boy,” Hannibal praised, “And of course, if you still need correction outside of those moments, I’m sure we’ll find the time.”

This time, the noise that ripped from Will’s mouth was more clearly tinted with eagerness. Humiliated, he tried to dislodge the fingers in his mouth, only to have them spread, prying his jaw open wider as a third slid in.

“And,” Hannibal continued, as if Will hadn’t disrupted at all, as if he wasn’t rubbing the pad of his index finger over Will’s tongue, “You’ll still get what you need today, since you asked so nicely.”

Today was Tuesday. Will had no idea if Hannibal intended to start their Friday dinners _this_ week, but he could make some fairly educated guesses. He would still be bruised on Friday, still raw and sore from Hannibal’s touch. He whimpered around the fingers, but his body betrayed him. He pushed up on his toes, arching his back. Displaying himself.

Behind him, Hannibal chuckled, softly, _dangerously_ amused. “My sweet boy,” He praised, bringing his hand down hard against Will’s displayed body, “You’ve already adjusted so well.”

Will squeezed his ankle, crying out as Hannibal spanked him, again and again.

It was not arousal he felt when this happened, more relief, relaxation. But the heavy feel of Hannibal’s fingers in his mouth, and the thought of Hannibal bending him over when he was still sore and aching from the last time…. _Those_ were both arousing. Hannibal’s control was arousing. Handing over his life to Hannibal’s capable hands, _that_ was the most arousing thing Will could think of.

Will didn’t quite get hard. Couldn’t, not like this. There were pleasurable spankings and there were disciplinary spankings, and Hannibal most definitely meant for Will to be thoroughly disciplined.

But the damp heat of arousal still churned in Will’s stomach. He whimpered at a particularly brutal swat, one that slipped low enough to strike the soft, inner skin of Will’s slightly spread thighs. Hannibal’s hand cupped the spot, a whisper-soft touch of apology, and Will heard Hannibal draw in a slow breath.

Hannibal paused. His hands lingered over the sensitive space, long enough that Will felt the first familiar stirrings of uncomfortable arousal in his cock, still pressed up against Hannibal’s thigh. There would be no hiding it, if Hannibal kept touching him like that.

Hannibal let out his breath again, pulling his fingers free of Will’s mouth. His wet hand draped over Will’s ass, pressing up, bringing Will to his toes and exposing the previously-protected skin of his thighs to Hannibal’s gaze.

Hannibal’s other hand pressed at Will’s thighs until he’d spread them a little wider, drifting up to rub at a sensitive spot just beside Will’s cock, one that made Will squirm in his lap.

“Not today,” Hannibal finally decided, pinching the spot gently, but still hard enough to make Will yelp. Will didn’t ask what it was they weren’t doing, or if Hannibal had a better idea of when would be preferable. He didn’t think he could handle the humiliation of Hannibal saying it out loud.

It wasn’t sexual, what they were doing, but it had crossed the boundaries of platonic long ago. Will squirmed and sobbed in Hannibal’s lap as his hand came down, over and over again, and it felt better than any kiss he’d ever received.

When Will left, it was without that type of intimacy. Hannibal’s hands were thorough but chaste as he tucked Will gently back into his clothing. What Will _did_ get, in lieu of a kiss, was a card with an address and an arrival time for that Friday night’s dinner, and Will clutched to it like a lifeline.

Will was going to be so sore by the weekend. His hands trembled as he started the car.

\-----

At home, Will couldn’t help himself anymore. He sprawled out on his bed, naked, face down. He imagined large hands on his back, sliding down, parting his sore cheeks to expose him to Hannibal’s intent gaze. Will whimpered, grinding down against the bed, and in his head, he received a swat for his trouble.

Hannibal would want him to be still. He would want Will to control himself, to take what Hannibal gave him. He would want to open Will up himself, with steady, sure hands.

Will reached back and hesitated, fingertips grazing over the heat of his body. He’d never tried it before, not even on his own, but now, he reached back and dragged a finger over the dry quiver of his hole.

It was odd. Not unpleasant, not hugely arousing. But Will could feel the flickers of what _could_ be, done properly.

He didn’t have anything at hand right now to do it properly, so imagination would have to do.

Hannibal would be big. He was big everywhere, tall and broad shouldered, and from the hint of a soft bulge that had pressed up against Will, Will imagined he would be impressive beneath his clothing, as well. He would cover every inch of Will, heavy and hot against his back, pressing him down into the mattress.

Will licked a stripe up the palm of his hand and then shoved it between his thighs, grinding down into the too-dry circle of his fist. He wondered if Hannibal would touch him like this, or if he would coax pleasure from Will in other ways, his hand in Will’s hair, his fingers prying his jaw open.

Will came into his fist with a low moan, a splash against the sheets. The satisfaction lasted only a few minutes, until the damp became chilly and unpleasant.

He was in over his head. He was losing his mind. He didn’t want to stop.

\-----

There was a body in the lab. Will had gone to poke at it, and to bicker some more with Brian Zeller, who’s skill at his job seemed directly proportional to how close Will was standing. Will’s very presence seemed to irritate him, and he could go from a surprisingly astute observation to juvenile guesswork, if Will loomed too close over his shoulder. Will liked to play a game with himself, watching Zeller unravel as Will circled.

Today, though, there was no game to be played. Today, they had a guest.

“You used to be a surgeon, Dr. Lecter,” Jimmy Price addressed over his shoulder, “Come take a peek at this stitch work.”

And then Hannibal was there, tall and attractive and perfectly put together. Will was suddenly very aware of himself, of his activities from the night before. His eyes darted to the front of Hannibal’s slacks without any real input from his brain, and Will had to turn and bury himself in the paperwork to keep from blushing.

Will read the file until his eyes blurred, until Hannibal and Price had finished their lively debate and Price and Brian had wandered off for coffee. He stayed fixated until Beverly startled him out of it, clapping her hand down against Will’s shoulder.

“Woah, easy there, tiger,” she said, grinning. “I think we could all use a break from this one. I’m heading for McDonald’s, want anything?”

A coke and a large fry, actually, but Will caught a glimpse of Hannibal’s appalled face behind her and couldn’t make himself ask for it. “No,” he said, “I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” She left with a shrug, and they were alone.

Well, not counting the body, but Will had lost all focus on the body the second Hannibal walked into the room.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Will?”

Will flinched, a ghost of a memory stirring, his hand around his own cock, grinding blindly into the bed. He bit down on his lower lip.

“I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal gave him a disapproving frown. Will hastily corrected himself.

“Hannibal! Hannibal, sorry.” Old habits died hard, and the wide halls of the BAU made Will wary and defensive.

“Yesterday. During our session, you seemed to reach a different state of catharsis than before.” Hannibal came around the side of the table, closing the distance between them. Will took a step back and hit a wall.

“I… I…” _The twitch of his cock against Hannibal’s thigh, wanting to fill despite the pain. Heavy sparks of pleasure in his stomach. Hannibal’s hands pinching and prodding at his skin._

They were of nearly the same height, but Hannibal had seemed much bigger when he was pulling Will over his knee. He seemed bigger now, as well, as if he towered over Will. His smile looked predatory.

“Come now, Will, surely we’re past deflection.”

“I… I enjoyed myself,” Will whispered, face red with shame. Hannibal stepped forward, crowding into Will’s personal space.

“Did you touch yourself?”

Hannibal’s voice was a whisper, and his gaze was piercing. Will nodded once, sharp and short. His hands were trembling.

Hannibal smiled softly. His hand came up to cup Will’s cheek, deceptively gentle. Will had felt that same hand turn sharp. He leaned into it anyway.

“Next time, ask first.”

Will stiffened. He opened his mouth, and then slammed it shut. His eyes flicked over to the door, still ajar. Price and Zeller had only gone for coffee. There was a machine just down the hall. He could hear them ribbing each other.

“What?” he forced out, looking back to Hannibal.

“Next time,” Hannibal repeated, slower. A little louder, still soft, but too-loud in an empty room. “Ask me first before you masturbate.”

They weren’t even together, not really. Hannibal had never even kissed him, never come closer than this scant space. “What do you want from me?” Will asked, before he could stop himself.

“I want you to be a good boy for me, Will. Can you do that?”

Will bristled, straightening up and pulling away from Hannibal’s touch. “You can’t just tell me what to do,” he insisted.

Hannibal stared at him, still and silent. He raised an eyebrow. Will flushed.

Of course he could. Hannibal could do anything he wanted to, because Will would let him. Will looked down at their feet. He swallowed heavily, and then nodded. “Okay.”

“What was that, Will?”

Will closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. “Okay, I’ll ask before I touch myself.”

“Good boy.” There was a hint of pressure against the top of Will’s head. He was too on-edge to peek and find out if it was a kiss. Too hopeful.

The world had tilted when Hannibal walked in. It was still sideways when he left.

\-----

Will woke up hard on Thursday. This was not an uncommon occurrence, but it was more than a case of morning wood. The dream lingered over him, heat and sweat and blood. Violent pleasure, formless but intense. Will whimpered and rolled his hips, thrusting up fruitlessly into the sheets that covered him. He slid a hand down into his boxers, wrapping it firmly around himself-

_I want you to be a good boy for me, Will. Can you do that?_

Will’s cock twitched in his hand, wet at the tip. It smacked against his belly when he released it with a low groan.

Well, if Hannibal wanted him to ask, Will would ask. He rattled off a text, as quickly as he could, and prayed Hannibal wasn’t with a patient.

_Can I touch myself?_

The response came quickly, but it was still the longest minute of Will’s life. He growled when he saw it.

_Not today._

Not today. As in, not just denying him now, but denying him any other answer for the rest of Thursday. Will rolled onto his stomach and glared at his screen.

 _What do you mean ‘not today?’_ He fired back, irritated and unbearably aroused.

_I mean that if you bring yourself to orgasm before I see you again, you will find out what it’s like to be struck with something other than my hand._

The thought hit him unbidden. Will closed his eyes and rolled his hips into the bed with a moan. He was tempted anyway. It wasn’t like Hannibal would _know_.

Hannibal’s next text came when Will was just reaching for his waistband.

_I will smell it on you, Will._

Will yanked his hand back, a heavy flush spreading off his cheeks and all the way down towards his chest.

 _Okay_ , he sent back, as quickly as he could, _Okay, I won’t._

_My good boy._

\-----

Will had never been to Hannibal’s house before. It was intimidating, two stories high and far fancier than Baltimore real estate had any right to be. Will tried not to think of the mortgage payments. He owned several acres of land, and yet he was sure Hannibal’s home outstripped his by a mile.

Will had dressed up, as much as one could when one did not own anything fancy and had two days’ notice. He wore a tight-fitting blue button down, the only nice slacks in his closet, and a plain black tie. He hadn’t shaved, but he’d tidied the beard up a bit and neatened his hair as much as the curls would allow.

Hannibal’s smile when he answered the door was a tiny thing, but it made it all worth it.

“You’re just in time,” he said, ushering Will in and taking his coat. “You can help me sauté.”

Will fumbled in the middle of kicking his shoes off.

“I’m not a very good cook,” he warned, looking from Hannibal towards the door, as if there was any chance he might be enough of a coward to flee.

“Nonsense,” Hannibal insisted. “Anyone can learn to cook, with the proper instruction.” He guided Will towards the kitchen with a hand resting low on his back, just above where the bruises still lingered. Will shuddered at the touch and was helpless to do anything but follow.

“I can bake chicken and fish,” Will insisted, stiffening up in front of the stove. “Sometimes, if I’m feeling fancy, I get those bags of vegetables you can steam in a microwave, instead of eating from a can.” Will said it mostly because it was true, but also because he was curious about what Hannibal’s face would look like. The flicker of distaste was nearly too quick to catch, but did not disappoint.

“All the more reason for you to learn,” Hannibal insisted, and then he reached for the apron.

The apron had been sitting on the counter, a small, neatly folded square of fabric. Quiet, unassuming. But Will knew, as it unfolded, that it was not _Hannibal’s_ apron.

The cut was narrow, feminine. It tucked in at the waist, curved out at the hips. The color was deceptive, an ordinary white, but there was a small bouquet lovingly stitched into the bottom right-hand corner.

They hadn’t discussed anything like this. They hadn’t discussed _anything_ , really. But Hannibal looked at him, quirked an eyebrow… And Will could not have said no. He gave a sharp, jerky nod, and Hannibal came around behind him to tie the straps into place.

Hannibal’s fingers brushed over Will in tiny, barely-there motions. Every touch felt like a shock. He lingered at the small of Will’s back, even after he’d knotted the second set of strings securely. His thumbs trailed over the strands, until his hands came to rest on Will’s hips.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal whispered against Will’s curls. Will felt like he was drowning. Outside of their sessions, they had been practical, professional. When Jack pulled them both into the investigation, they did not touch, did not gravitate around each other like every one of Will’s cells longed to do.

Here, though, Hannibal pressed the line of his body against Will’s back. They had gone from a hesitant intimacy to throwing each other head first into the deep end of a pool. It was suddenly overwhelming. Will shivered.

“It’s just an apron,” he said, voice soft.

“You know I wasn’t talking about the apron,” Hannibal chided, guiding Will towards the stove.

They broke apart to cook, but only barely. Hannibal was a constant presence, his arm around Will’s waist to guide him between counter spaces, his hands over Will’s to show him how to properly stir and flip the vegetables. It was not the all-encompassing heat of Hannibal at his back. It was little bursts of electricity, flashes of fire everywhere they touched.

Hannibal took the apron back when they were done, with heavier hands than those that had tied it in place. This time, he cupped the back of Will’s neck with a big, warm hand as he guided him out to the table.

Hannibal served their meal with a sweet white wine. The meat had been seared to perfection. Hannibal had carefully guided Will in seasoning the vegetables.

Will tasted none of it.

He ate with his eyes fixed on the table, a pale blush across his face. He knew what was coming, or he thought he did. Discipline wasn’t sexy, but Hannibal in the kitchen had been. Will no longer knew what to expect. The situation had fallen entirely out of his hands, and he no longer knew where he stood.

He liked it. At least a little. Because if he tilted his head and peered out of the corner of his eyes, he could catch Hannibal staring. Will did not know what Hannibal was planning, but he trusted Hannibal to guide him through it.

It seemed he trusted Hannibal with a lot of things these days.

“I have dessert prepared,” Hannibal said, when Will had forced down the last bite, “but I think it would be best if we saved that for later, don’t you?”

Will’s mouth was dry, despite the damp sweetness of the wine. He nodded hastily.

“I want you to clear the plates. Rinse them in the sink, but do not wash them. I will take care of that later. Then, you’ll go down the hall to the second door on your left, where I will be waiting for you.”

Another step further into whatever it was they were doing. A command that went further than discipline. Will nodded, hands shaking as he reached for his glass.

It took two trips, but the actual rinsing was over with quickly. Too quickly. Will hesitated at the sink and stared at the water swirling down the drain.

They had been doing this for a while, but somehow, this felt like the tipping point. There would be no turning back from this now. No more pretending that this wasn’t happening. Will had come all the way out here to let Hannibal take him over a knee.

Will took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Splashed some water over his neck. Then, he went to his fate.

Hannibal’s study was as pompous and carefully displayed as his office. Hannibal was already seated in a highbacked chair, waiting patiently.

“Everything alright, Will?”

Will had been uncertain, right up until Hannibal asked. Then, the nod came easy. Hannibal’s voice settled into all the empty spaces inside of Will, lingering over the cracks in his being. Will crossed the room and reached for his belt, only to have Hannibal’s hands lock around his wrists.

“Not yet,” Hannibal whispered. When he pulled Will into his lap, it was in a sitting position, Will cradled in his arms like something precious. It was the way he usually held Will after Will had been thoroughly disciplined, and Will worried for a moment that something was wrong. He squirmed in Hannibal’s lap, uncomfortable and off-kilter, until Hannibal shushed him and tucked Will’s head under his chin.

“I think it’s time we discussed this, don’t you?”

Will stiffened, pressing his face into the collar of Hannibal’s shirt. There was that scent again, crisp and clean. Will took a deep, shuddering breath. “Do we have to?” he asked, only half-joking.

“Yes,” Hannibal said simply, “if it’s to continue.”

Will swallowed heavily. It had only been two months, but he’d started craving their weekly sessions, the release of Hannibal’s firm hand across his backside. He wasn’t sure he could go back to _before,_ back to being responsible for himself, back to crashing over and over again because everything was so loud and stressful and too-much.

“I want it to continue,” Will whispered. Hannibal tangled a hand in his hair.

“Then we need to discuss it. Agreed?”

Will nodded, as much as Hannibal’s firm grip would allow.

“Good boy.” Will flushed at the praise, smiling softly down at his lap as Hannibal continued. “Do you know what a safeword is, Will?”

“Of course I do,” Will scoffed, but it still took him a moment to realize the significance of the question. They’d been doing this for weeks, and while Will had never exactly _tried_ to stop Hannibal… it was just now occurring to him that he hadn’t had a way to, beyond physical violence. Hannibal had proven in their very first session that kicking his feet and whining was not a good way for Will to avoid a punishment. “Oh…”

“Oh,” Hannibal agreed, with a bit of humor to his voice. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit neglectful of you, haven’t I?”

“No!” Will insisted, too loud and too sharp. He flinched, hiding his face against the smooth skin of Hannibal’s throat. Beneath him, he felt a laugh rumble through Hannibal.

“It’s good to know I have your support,” Hannibal said gently, “but it was unfair of me to press this on you without giving you the option to step away.”

“I didn’t want the option,” Will admitted softly, “And if you’d given me one, back when we first started, I would have fled so fast… You’d never have seen me again. And then we wouldn’t have this…” Whatever ‘this’ was.

Hannibal hummed in agreement. “And then where would we be?” he teased.

“Up a creek without a paddle,” Will muttered.

“Am I your paddle, Will?” Hannibal, to his credit, was restrained even as he said it, but Will glanced up to catch the slightest tweak of his lips, and that was it. Will lost it, bursting into laughter that spread from him to Hannibal, until they were both snickering.

“That was terrible,” Will finally said. “ _You’re_ terrible.”

Hannibal cupped Will’s chin in his hand, tilting him up to meet his gaze.

“Oh Will. You haven’t been naughty enough to earn ‘terrible’ yet.”

Will flushed. Any response he had died in his throat, and he shifted nervously in Hannibal’s lap. There was something about that word, _‘naughty_ ,’ that made him feel squirmy, his skin tight and heated. It settled low in his stomach, a twisting combination of humiliation and arousal.

Hannibal’s hand skimmed his jaw, down the side of his throat, resting two fingers over the butterfly-quick pulse that rolled through Will’s veins.

“I’ve let you get too worked up,” he mused. “Your word, Will.”

His word. His _safeword_. A way to stop Hannibal, if it was too much. A word that Will knew already he would never use. He could not imagine anything Hannibal would do to him that Will would not welcome, even when it twisted dark and tight in his stomach.

“Acherontia.”

“From Acheron,” Hannibal mused, “the river of the dead.”

“It’s a genus of moths,” Will explained. “I was specifically thinking of Acherontia Atropos, the death’s-head hawkmoth. They’re beautiful.”

“A herald of the inevitability of death.”

Will flushed and ducked his head. “It’s morbid. I’ll pick something else.”

“Will.” Hannibal used his grip on Will’s hair to tilt his head back up. “It’s perfect.”

Will settled into that grip, fingers against his scalp, too-tight in his hair in the best way. A shudder rolled through his body, and Hannibal smiled.

“Up and over,” he said, releasing Will’s hair and patting his thigh. Will wavered only for a moment, already sinking into that peaceful place he always found at the end of discipline. He pulled himself to his feet and stripped his pants and underwear away without being told, draping himself back over Hannibal’s lap.

It was different this time. More charged, for one. The conversation lingered over them, thumping through Will’s veins with every beat of his heart. It felt serious now. It had always felt serious, but in comparison to today, to curling up in Hannibal’s lap and offering up his safeword, it was as if they had only ever been playing.

With a word in place, Hannibal seemed to have come off a leash. He struck harder, sharp enough to have Will yelping after only a handful, and he paused longer between blows to trace his fingertips over Will’s soft, sensitive skin. Will was still reddened from earlier that week, and he squirmed through every blow with soft, graceless little sobs. He clutched at Hannibal’s ankle, at the leg of the chair, his only life lines as each hit sent him spiraling.

And then Hannibal began to speak.

Hannibal was not a lecturer, not really. Excepting the first time, all of Will’s spankings had been for maintenance of good behavior, rather than punishment of the bad, and there had been very little to lecture about. Hannibal preferred to put his entire focus into his hands on Will’s skin, with the occasional little comment or guidance as needed.

Today, though, his voice fell heavy like a blanket over Will’s spine.

“You’ve done so well, sweet boy. Your attitude has been much improved since we started. This was what you had been waiting for, wasn’t it? Someone to put you back into place when you faltered?”

Will squeaked, any reply lost to Hannibal tipping his hips up higher and redirecting his blows to Will’s thighs.

“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Hannibal continued. “I’ll be taking care of you every Friday night from now on, and any other time you need it. There will be no need to worry about looking after yourself, Will. I’ll be looking.”

A strangled gasp, more of a moan. Will tucked his face into Hannibal’s pant leg and let the tears come.

“You were so beautiful tonight, letting me guide you. You are beautiful every time I see you, but tonight, you were radiant.”

No one had ever called him ‘beautiful’ before. ‘Handsome,’ sure. ‘Cute,’ once or twice. But there was a certain connotation to ‘beautiful’ that was so rarely applied to men, at least to their faces. It twisted in Will’s gut, heat and humiliation and a glorious thrum of excitement, that Hannibal would praise him, that Hannibal might _desire_ him.

There was no pleasure in the pain, but there was pleasure in the words, and Will had been half-hard since the evening began. He was now, thickening against Hannibal’s thigh despite the burning ache that settled into his backside.

Hannibal stopped, resting his hand over Will’s upturned ass. He rubbed in slow, steady circles, just enough pressure to tilt Will from pain to pleasure, to urge Will’s hips forward in a tiny little rock against Hannibal’s thighs.

“I… I…” Will struggled for words, voice thick with tears and cloying, overwhelming emotion.

“Shh…” Hannibal hushed him. His hands were thorough. Will felt like he was being inspected as Hannibal worked over every sore spot. “It’s alright.” One of his hands pressed gently, enough that Will’s hips rolled forward again. Embarrassed, Will pushed himself up. Hannibal allowed it, although he would not allow Will to move away entirely. Instead, he guided Will’s limbs, helping Will into a seated position in his lap, as they always sat together afterwards.

Will ducked his head, cheeks stained as red as his ass surely was, and pressed his thighs together, as if he could hide a response Hannibal had surely felt. He felt a warm pair of lips press against his temple.

“It’s alright. Is there something you’d like to ask me?”

Pressed between his thighs, Will’s traitorous cock gave an eager little twitch. Will bit back an embarrassing sound.

“Can I touch myself tonight?” he whispered.

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so.”

Will startled badly enough to make eye contact, leaning back to glare at Hannibal. All that pressure, all that flirting and intimacy… Will didn’t think he could make it another night. He opened his mouth to argue and Hannibal shoved two fingers deep into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and stilling his protests.

For a moment, they stared at each other, Will in disgruntled embarrassment and Hannibal in pleased pride.

“No,” Hannibal said again, sliding a third finger into place seemingly for the joy of watching Will swallow around it. “But if you would like to get off right here, right now, you may.”

Will’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, along the roof of his mouth where Hannibal’s knuckles grazed, and between his thighs, his erection filling out in steady, throbbing pulses. His hands fluttered uselessly at his sides. One made the over-eager trip and fizzled out atop his lap, uncertain, hesitant.

“Would you like me to make this easier for you?”

Will stared up at Hannibal and then nodded as much as his fingers would allow. Hannibal smiled at him and slid his fingers free, wiping them off against the sensitive skin of Will’s inner thighs. Will did not have time to protest before Hannibal flipped him once more, settling him back into position.

For a moment, Will thought he was going to be spanked again, and he squirmed with uncomfortable anticipation. Instead, Hannibal rested a hand against Will’s bruises and pressed down, slowly but firmly, until Will’s hips were guided into a languorous roll. Hannibal relaxed his grip, and then pressed again, two more complete cycles until Will got the message and began to thrust of his own accord.

Will’s face was a mess, damp with tears and bright red with arousal and the position. He moaned freely, knowing Hannibal preferred his noises. The rough fabric of Hannibal’s slacks created an impossibly perfect friction. Will rubbed against them until he was aching, until he felt a damp patch growing under hm and realized what he’d done.

“Your pants-”

Hannibal’s hand came down against Will’s thighs, more play than punishment, but still with the sharp sound of flesh. “Keep moving, Will,” he demanded, and Will was helpless to do anything else.

Hannibal rubbed and massaged at Will’s aching skin, guiding Will through thrust after thrust. Will jerked and writhed across his lap, motions growing more and more desperate, until Hannibal’s finger slid, just a little, just close enough to where Will wanted them to be more of a promise than any real sensation. Will spilled over, thrusting back against fingers that never quite made it to where he felt empty and hollow.

Hannibal’s hand slid up to Will’s back, rubbing soothing circles there, light and comforting. Panting, Will reached beneath him for Hannibal’s slacks and had his hand jerked back for his trouble.

“Not today,” Hannibal said, patting Will’s ass gently. “It won’t be necessary. But next time, perhaps, if you’re good.”

Will moaned and jerked his softening cock through the mess once more. Hannibal laughed and pet gently at the small of his back, until Will stilled and relaxed under Hannibal’s gentle touch.

“What are we?” Will whispered to the ground. Hannibal hesitated only a moment before hoisting Will back up. Will’s usual seat was a fair bit more damp than usual, enough to bring a hint of shame to Will’s cheeks, but Hannibal held him as if he didn’t notice.

“I was hoping for exclusivity,” Hannibal said, tone light but eyes dark. He may have been aiming for levity, but Will could see the seriousness that lingered over him. It felt weird to not be the one who was hesitant, who was uncertain.

“What sort of exclusivity?” Will dropped his voice low, aiming for sultry and quite possibly missing it, given the rawness of his throat. Despite that, Hannibal’s hand fluttered against the small of his back. Hannibal looked as though he’d just been given everything he ever wanted and was waiting for the catch.

He seemed to come to a conclusion at the same time Will did. There could only have been one answer, after all, and Will was decided long before Hannibal took his hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.

“I’d like to keep you,” Hannibal whispered, “like this, and more, if you’d let me.”

“More spanking?” Will joked.

“As much as you need,” Hannibal replied, utterly serious. Will drew in a sharp breath. Hannibal leaned in to kiss away the next one. Will felt dizzy, lightheaded.

He felt safe.

 

**Author's Note:**

> woo this was a blast to write. And there is SO much more in Will's future (and yours).
> 
> The feminization thing... that's going somewhere. The original idea for this story was '50s housewife Will' and I demanded domestic discipline, and it all went downhill from there. So... there's more feminization in the future, including dresses and referring to Will as 'wife', although Hannibal's still gonna stick to male pronouns and 'sweet boy.' I normally hate spoilers and we've got a ways to go before we get there, but I thought it was only fair to warn people because I know it's a big 'nope' for many.
> 
> This was plotted by [Moist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moistdrippings) and Strats, written by Strats, and edited by Moist. It's our baby and we love it.
> 
> EDIT 1/13/19: So something was bugging me about a line in this fic, and I couldn't put my finger on it. But I was reading Emungere's Blackbird for like, the five millionth time today, and I realized I accidentally swiped a line. Same context and everything. The things we read do influence our writing, but I promise it wasn't intentional.
> 
> The line in Blackbird is: "You would have run so far and so fast that I would never have seen you again."
> 
> The line here is: “And if you’d given me one, back when we first started, I would have fled so fast… You’d never have seen me again. And then we wouldn’t have this…”
> 
> It's a minor thing, I don't think it warrants a change, but I *do* believe in crediting my inspiration, and Emungere is a fantastic writer who does BDSM better than I ever could. Go read Blackbird, and then go read her original work, it's all brilliant.


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